


it's an exploration

by femmelinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blowjobs, Fratboy!Niall, M/M, Smoking, art major!zayn, bc who can ever get enough fraboy!niall and art major!zayn?, potentially triggering suicide joke near the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:23:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3735595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmelinson/pseuds/femmelinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Maybe you could help me?” Niall eventually asks. “With the art, and stuff. I’ve no idea what to do for this assignment.”<br/>“It’s due tonight,” the boy says. Why does everyone think due dates matter so much?<br/>“Well what are you doing right now?”</p><p>OR: the one where Niall really resents his art history elective but he's sort of got a thing for the boy with the paint on his hands who sits at the back of the class</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's an exploration

**Author's Note:**

> Well this was fun! Loosely inspired by [ this photo](http://41.media.tumblr.com/9ef867c1dbb88350b75fbc6763e02065/tumblr_nmf2budk7l1ru9ob7o1_500.jpg) and [Linda](http://alakazayn.tumblr.com/) (what else is new).

Niall thinks it’s absolutely bogus that he still has to take mandatory electives in second year. Art History? He’s a _kin major_ , for fuck’s sake, he does not need to know about Courtly Art and Culture in Western Asia. Most of the kids in this class are weird as hell too, or weird by Niall’s standards anyway. Call him crazy but the most effort he’ll put in for a 10:30am class is throwing on the cleanest shirt he can find and maybe a single spritz of cologne if he’s got the time. Some of these kids look like they dress like they wanna become the art they study. Ridiculous.  
  
Course there’s this one guy. There’s always one guy, isn’t there? It’s been about three weeks of class and Niall still knows shit all about him, save for that he always show up five minutes late, sits in the very back and is pretty the much the most gorgeous creature Niall’s ever laid eyes on. Niall sits sort of awkwardly at the end of an aisle, several spaces between himself and the next weirdo and watches the boy sneak past him to the back every Tuesday and Thursday. He takes note of his tattoos, his unkempt hair, the way he smells faintly like smoke. Niall feels a twat for the amount of times he’s sat in class and amended his previous thought that these kids dress to become their art because this kid might already be a work of goddamn art on his own. It’s maddening.  
  
Today, Niall takes note of something new. When the boy arrives, even later than usual (almost fifteen minutes), and quietly brushes past Niall on his usual aisle seat, Niall notices paint stains on the boys tattooed hands, a few splatters across his black t shirt. The boy’s eyes flick to meet Niall’s for one fleeting second before Niall averts his gaze back to his notes. Years of football training have taught him that peripheral vision is his best friend but Niall swears he must have been mistaken when he saw the boy grin as he made his way passed him to his usual seat in the back.  
  
This was some highschool shit. Niall’s a member of the second biggest fraternity on campus, could have anyone he wants, any time. You don’t get crushes, you get what you want.  
  
So that’s exactly what Niall’s gonna do.  
  
***  
  
“Are you doing that report for Bio-Mechanics?” Liam asks instead of ‘hello’, as he lets himself into Niall’s room.  
  
“Thought about it,” Niall responds from where he’s sat on the floor before his TV, playing some video game he’s already beaten twice.  
  
“It’s due nextFriday,” Liam says, as if that changes anything.  
  
“Due next Friday, and there’s a do tonight, so.” Niall pats himself on the back for the word play. Nice.  
  
Liam rolls his eyes and takes a spot beside Niall on the floor, muttering something about how there’s a do every night, but whatever.  
  
“Got this art history assignment due first anyway,” Niall eventually says after a few moments of Liam blankly watching Niall play.  
  
“Sorry, what history was that?”  
  
Liam’s technically in health science so he’s spared from some of the god awful electives that Niall is forced to take. Bastard.  
  
“Art, bro. Fuckin’ hate it.”  
  
“Is it boring?” Liam asks like he already knows the answer.  
  
“It’s like, irrelevant. Here’s the art, it exists. That’s literally all anyone needs to know. And frankly, some people don’t even need to know that much.”  
  
“Can you believe there are people who major in shit like that?”  
  
“Poor souls, really.”  
  
Niall tries not to think about the boy with the paint on his hands, wonders if he majors in art or art history or whatever the fuck. It’s annoying to think about, makes Niall kill himself a lot sooner than he would have if he’d actually been trying to beat his game again. He’s exhausted suddenly. It’s only 5:00pm but he’s ready to start drinking.  
  
“Thought you were good at this game, bro,” Liam says, standing and making to leave. Niall lies dramatically across the floor and looks up at Liam with tired eyes.  
  
“It was a suicide mission, Liam. I’ve given up.” He closes his eyes and lies still on the floor. Can’t stop his mouth from crooking up into a grin though. He can almost feel Liam shaking his head.  
  
“Don’t joke about that, mate,” he says, kicking Niall in the ribs but Niall can hear a slight smile in his voice too. Sees it for sure when he crooks one eye open and pulls a face in Liam’s direction.  
  
“Anyway, we ordered pizza. Also, beer pong competition before people start showing up. Louis says you owe him a round. Something about redemption?”  
  
Niall sits up immediately. “That bastard. He knows I kicked his ass last time.”  
  
Liam just shrugs and lets himself out. Niall really should start his Bio-Mechanics report. He should also probably start his art history assignment. He should also stop thinking about the boy with the paint on his hands, but it really doesn’t look like any of that is going to be happening any time soon. Not when he can hear Louis yelling “redemption, Niall, _redemption_!” from two floors below him and Niall’s still sat on the floor of his bedroom imagining how unlikely it is that some cool stranger from art history would show up at his frat party for beer pong. He needs a drink.  
  
***  
  
The party is no different from any other. There’s beer pong and weed and a hundred people that Niall’s never met before. He gets pissed, chats up girls even though he doesn’t have to; one of them will undoubtedly be sucking his cock by the end of the night. It feels like it’s been far longer than just a few hours by the time some girl he thinks might be called Katelyn is riding him and he’s lazily gripping her hips, thinks she’s being far too loud but he can’t be arsed to do anything about it, just lets her ride him till he’s coming routinely, distantly aware that his final thought before he passes out beside her is that he wishes he could feel what the boy with the paint on his hands would feel like riding him instead. It’s whatever. Katelyn leaves.  
  
It’s 5:00am and he’s got 9:30am class tomorrow so that’ll be fun.  
  
***  
  
Niall had definitely totally 100% meant it when he told himself he was getting what he wanted. And he wants the boy with the paint on his hands. All he’s gotta do is turn it on.  
  
By next Thursday, a week later, he’s got it locked down. He smiles at the boy when he shows up ten minutes late, makes sure he makes eye contact as he walks by, takes pleasant note of the way the boy’s cheeks seem to flare red at the attention. He’s got this.  
  
After class, Niall packs up quickly and darts to the back to meet the boy before he can leave. The boy looks surprised when he sees Niall before him, the rest of the students packing up and chatting around them. But Niall is smiling as warmly as possible and although the boy still looks suspicious he assesses Niall’s demeanor and says, “Alright, mate?”.  
  
“Great. Well, sort of. This class is a bit dull, don’t you think?”  
  
The boy shrugs. “It’s my major, so I kind of have to like it.”  
  
Niall stomach clenches. Of course. He laughs it off. “Art major, then?” he asks, gesturing to the boy’s still-paint stained hands that are currently placing his books into a black messenger bag.  
  
“Oh,” the boy says, looking down at his hands as if he’d forgotten there was paint there. “Yeah.”  
  
“That’s pretty cool, man. I’m in kin, myself. Not too good with this art stuff.”  
  
The boy just hums and nods. Quiet then. Okay.  
  
“C’mon,” Niall leads when it looks like the boy has finished packing up and they start to leave together. Niall has no idea where this guy’s got to be but he’s following Niall down the halls of the Arts and Humanities building and out the front door towards Niall’s next class.  
  
“Maybe you could help me?” Niall eventually asks. “With the art, and stuff. I’ve no idea what to do for this assignment.”  
  
“It’s due tonight,” the boy says. Why does everyone think due dates matter so much?  
  
“Well what are you doing right now?”  
  
“I--,” the boy starts but cuts off. Niall stops leading them toward class and instead averts his direction slightly so they’re heading off campus, towards his. The boy is still following him.  
  
“Don’t you have class?” the boy asks instead.  
  
“Think this assignment’s a bit more important, don’t you?” Niall turns to look at the boy full on when he says it.  
  
The boy looks back at Niall then down at his feet like he can’t believe they’re still carrying him forward. He shakes his head. “Well alright, then,” he says.  
  
“Sick,” Niall murmurs, hearing the click of a lighter beside him when the boy lights a cigarette.  
  
“M’Zayn, by the way,” the boy says, holding the cigarette between his teeth to hold out his hand for Niall to shake.  
  
“Niall,” he grins, accepting the offer. He feels the jagged edges of the dried paint on Zayn’s knuckles and lets their touch linger longer than it needs to, just so he can feel it a bit more. Niall feels a sort of triumph when it seems to shake Zayn, who exhales the smoke from his cigarette a little too harshly and keeps his hands in his pockets for the majority of the walk home.  
  
“This is me,” Niall says finally, gesturing towards the massive mansion-like house with the Greek symbols carved above the door, obnoxiously large. Zayn stops abruptly.  
  
“You…live in a frathouse?” he asks, eyebrows raised, shifting his gaze between the stupidly big house and Niall’s face.  
  
“Me and fifteen of my closest friends,” Niall grins.  
  
Zayn shakes his head and puts the cigarette out under his foot, lets Niall lead him forward.  
  
Inside is a mess, of course. There’s still empties scattered around the main space, despite Liam’s best efforts to keep “the common area tidy at all times, lads!”. Niall likes the way Zayn’s Doc Martens look next to the rest of the boy’s runners when he slips them off, glancing around the vast space, the posters on the walls, the Greek symbol plastered anywhere and everywhere there’s an open space.  
  
“S’not as bad you’re thinking,” Niall says. He’s used to people judging the frat thing, but he likes it. Feels like he’s part of something.  
  
“I don’t think it’s bad,” Zayn says quickly, averts his assessing gaze from the cardboard cutout of Kate Upton that Louis’s insisted they keep in the living room and looks back to Niall where it softens perceptibly.  
  
Niall grins. “It’s okay, really,” he says, because he knows Zayn’s lying. “Come on.”  
  
He tilts his head and leads Zayn up the main staircase, up the two stories to his room. He fought for all of first year to get this corner room, where the ceiling cuts across diagonally and makes a perfect lay out for posters. There’s a window that faces the street outside and this little hidden nook where Niall can just fit into to study in if he ever feels so inclined. It’s messy as hell because it’s always messy as hell but he’s proud of it.  
  
He doesn’t make a show of it, just lets Zayn follow him in and sets up at his desk. He doesn’t have to look behind him to know Zayn has sat on the corner of his bed.  
  
Once his computer’s booted, he turns in his chair to face Zayn, who’s sat sort of awkwardly, looking up at the crooked ceiling. Niall follows his gaze to his Eagles poster, hoping he notices that one over the Take That poster which is posted up beside it. Whatever, he likes boybands. And Gary Barlow is well fit.  
  
“So what kind of art do you do?” Niall asks, directing Zayn’s attention back to him.  
  
Zayn sighs, not like he’s annoyed with the question or anything, just. Sighs. “Like, I used to just do graffiti and that, but I like cartoons? Wanna make comic books.”  
  
“No shit. That’s sick, man.” Niall is genuinely impressed. He can get on board with that. He had been afraid Zayn would say something like “abstract minimalism” and then he’d have no idea where to go from there. But comics? He can work with that. “So what’s your favourite comic, then?”  
  
“I like superheroes. Marvel, and that.”  
  
Niall grins, widely. “Thought you art majors would all be broody hipsters. You’re just nerds like the rest of us.”  
  
“Do I look like a broody hipster?” Zayn says, but he’s grinning too and Niall’s got this, he’s _got_ this.  
  
“Sort of. Looks good on you, though.” Oh, he’s got this.  
  
Zayn's breath falters and he turns it into a breathy laugh, shakes his head again. Niall’s still looking at him but Zayn’s gaze is on the floor as he runs his hand through his hair. Niall didn’t think anyone could make a Mohawk look that good. He swivels his chair back around to his computer.  
  
“So this assignment,” he starts.  
  
***  
  
Niall barely notices the time slipping away until it’s almost 4:00pm and Zayn’s talked him through about 1000 words of this weird-ass analysis of a painting Niall would never look at twice if he had the choice. Zayn sees things that Niall would have never noticed, like the how the colour represents the emotions of the artist and what the use of this one brush technique meant in that historical context or some shit. It’s complete bullshit but it’s done save for the conclusion and Niall’s grateful.  
  
It’s at the same time that Zayn says, “my next class is in twenty minutes” that Niall says “we should smoke” and they’re both laughing somewhat unnecessarily hysterically from it. When you work for too long everything seems way funnier than it should.  
  
“I really should go to class,” Zayn says but he doesn’t sound convincing whatsoever so Niall pulls his pipe out of the top drawer of his desk and wiggles his eyebrows at Zayn who grimaces. Niall knows it's a bit of a stretch but if step one is to get someone alone then step two is definitely to become as un-sober as possible with them. He knows the game. He's got this.  
  
“At least let me roll a joint, I hate pipes,” Zayn says. Niall grins. Oh, he’s so _got_ this.  
  
Zayn rolls three perfect little joints using papers he apparently carries around with him and they smoke their way through two of them, smoking out Niall’s room until they’re slumped casually against the side of Niall’s bed, side to side.  
  
“You should stay,” Niall says quietly. “We’re having a party tonight.”  
  
“Doesn’t this place have parties every night?” Zayn responds, rolling his head to glance red-eyed at Niall.  
  
“Why, you heard of us?” Niall asks, sitting up slightly.  
  
“My mate, Harry, he’s like, a proper partying type. Always comes to your dos. Tells me all about them, and shit. Beer pong competitions at frat parties, bro? Seriously?”  
  
Niall mocks offense and places a hand on his chest. “I’ll have you know I am the undefeated champion. Also, I’ve never heard of a Harry.”  
  
Zayn’s brow furrows. “Don’t you know the people who come to your dos?”  
  
Niall scoffs. “Mate, at least a hundred people are here on an average night. I know my roommates and that’s about it.”  
  
“Your ‘brothers’”? Zayn grins.  
  
Niall rolls his eyes. “Wasn’t gonna say that, but.”  
  
“Well anyway, it’s not really my scene, so.” Zayn shrugs and rests his head against Niall’s bed as if it’s taking a lot of effort to keep it upright.  
  
“What is your scene, then?” Niall prods.  
  
Zayn’s eyes fall shut. “Could just do this.” Zayn gestures with one tattooed hand around the smokey bedroom.  
  
“What, lock yourself in a room and smoke every night?”  
  
“That’s the dream.”  
  
“That’s boring.”  
  
Zayn opens one eye, a grin playing at the corners of his lips. “I’ll just go then.”  
  
Niall's eyes widen immediately. “No no, I mean, this isn’t boring! You’re not boring, this is. Great, this." He's rambling. What the fuck. "But, like, pints,” he finishes lamely. He's definitely off his game. Maybe it's the weed. Or maybe it's the way Zayn looks so annoyingly gorgeous with his hair a little mussed up and his eyelashes casting shadows over his perfect cheekbones. Either or.  
  
“Overrated.”  
  
Niall scoffs but then they just sit in silence for a while, and Niall lets the high settle over him completely so it doesn’t feel strange. Zayn’s eyes have fallen shut again and Niall keeps chancing little glances over at him. He takes in Zayn’s ripped black jeans and MTV sweater with sleeves that look like he’s cut them himself. His arms are positively covered in tattoos, so many that Niall can’t even imagine how his bare skin looked before all the ink. He imagines some bullshit story where the snake on his upper arm is the devil and the pretty girl in the beanie and peace sign shirt is Eve, trails his eyes down to the “Zap!” and imagines that that’s it, that’s the moment Eve ate the apple and ZAP, we’re all wearing clothes.  
  
Yeah, he took a religions class last year. Whatever.  
  
Zayn’s eyes eventually open and he pulls his phone from his pocket. It’s almost seven. “I should go home.”  
  
Niall feels his chest clench with disappointment but the high is making it too hard to argue so he just nods. Zayn collects his things, lets Niall lead him downstairs. There’s music coming from the kitchen and Niall can hear Liam and Louis bickering so he follows Zayn right out the front door once he’s got his boots on.  
  
“Let me give you my number,” Niall says before Zayn can walk away. Zayn hands him his phone and Niall puts “Niall (Art History)” into his contact folder and really, really hopes Zayn texts him. He feels like he’s forgetting something but Zayn’s taking his phone back and saying “later, mate” before Niall can think what it is.  
  
***  
  
Party Routine  
• Drink away the high  
• Destroy Louis Tomlinson at Beer Pong  
• Chat up a girl  
• Get blown in the bathroom  
• Wait for Zayn to text you  
  
***  
  
_Thank you_  
  
That’s what he forgot to tell Zayn, Niall realizes, when he’s back in bed later that night. It’s almost 4am. He should have thanked Zayn for helping him write his assignment. Fuck.  
  
***  
  
It’s half one in the afternoon when Niall finally wakes up. So he’s already missed his morning classes. And he’s got about six hours to do his Bio-Mechanics report. Alright.  
  
He throws up twice before he’s even got a coffee in him. He’s usually immune to hangovers (for the most part) but he’s got it bad today, must have been drunker than he thought last night. It’s the pounding in his head that numbs the excitement he might otherwise feel at his phone finally lighting up an hour later with a text from Zayn.  
  
_Hope the party was alright, bro. It’s zayn by the way ! x._  
  
He’ll wait like, ten minutes. Write one more page, then he’ll reply. Maybe his fogged up head will think of something witty by then. Maybe he’ll stop blushing over the little “x” by then, too.  
  
Half an hour and only half a page later and neither of those things have happened yet. So Niall just sucks it up and does the best he can.  
  
_was a little too good, I think. I’m feeling rough today ! Forgot to say thanks for helping me write that assignment , btw. rlly appreciated it !_  
  
He tosses in the little monkey Emoji with the hands on its face for good measure and tosses his phone away. Focus, now.  
  
When he finally finishes the damn report it’s a page too short and an hour late and he definitely fucked up the citations but whatever. It’s the best he could under the circumstances. Yes, the circumstances are his own fault, but that’s beside the point.  
  
Zayn had texted him back a few hours ago but Niall told himself he would stay in the zone so he’d let it be, only just opening it now. It’s not much but.  
  
_Anytime ! Thanks for smoking me, too x._  
  
Ok so maybe he always does the little “x” then, Niall thinks. It’s still a kiss, even if someone did that a lot they’d still censor it occasionally right? Niall sighs. He’s supposed to be turning it on, he’s _got_ this, and yet all he can do is over think the varying meanings of a text kiss. He’s gotta get his shit together.  
  
_we should do it again sometime !_  
  
He hesitates for two seconds before he hits send. For some reason he likes that both he and Zayn add an extra space before punctuation marks and shit. He’d got into the habit of it back in highschool and it just kind of stuck. He wonders when Zayn started doing it too. Wonders why he _cares_.  
  
He’s also really hoping Zayn gets the hint and offers to see him again. Niall’s aware he could do it, but. This is part of the game, too. Get them alone, get un-sober, repeat. Don't waste time.  
  
_What’ve you got on for tonight ?_ Zayn texts him five minutes later.  
  
Thank god for Zayn, Niall thinks. He's playing the game.  
  
***  
  
Niall would never, ever in a million thousand years be in this bar right now if it weren’t for Zayn. It’s on the side of town Niall never goes to, where he knows there are thrift stores and coffee shops that sell drinks named after 20th century novels and apparently, _apparently_ pubs that have open mic nights on Fridays where Zayn’s mate Harry is performing. And that’s where Zayn’s invited him.  
  
Niall feels horrendously out of place and feels like everyone must think so too but he’s got a pint of some organic beer in his hand and Zayn is by his side at a small corner table so he’s surviving.  
  
“Are you on the football team?” Harry’s asking, like he really wants the answer to be yes.  
  
Niall could roll his eyes. “Was in first year,” he says and Harry beams. How has Niall never noticed him at a party before?  
  
“Ok, ok, and you’re in…kin?” Harry continues.  
  
Niall laughs. “Mate, what are you doing?”  
  
Zayn is shaking his head and hiding his face in his hands but Niall can hear him laughing.  
  
“I love clichés,” Harry explains. “I’m writing this novel, right?”  
  
Harry dives into an explanation of this novel idea where every character is exactly what you expect them to be and no one is complex and every kin major is on the football team and in a fraternity and every blonde girl is a cheerleader and from a rich family and dating said football playing kin major. Everyone is straight and white and rich and predictable. Niall doesn’t see the point.  
  
When Harry eventually shuts up, explaining that he thinks it’s fascinating how unsurprising some people are, Zayn is snickering and Niall feels like he should be offended.  
  
“Maybe you can make one character the English major in skinny jeans who writes weird novels and performs at open mics!” Niall suggests, working to keep his tone light.  
  
Harry grins so wide two dimples arise on his cheeks and his eyes glow. “The best kind of cliché,” he says, turning to Zayn. “I like him, Zayn.”  
  
Niall has absolutely no idea how Harry has come to that conclusion, thinks if he could keep up with Harry for even a second he might like him too, but. Zayn just looks at Niall like “sorry” and Niall sips at his beer.  
  
Suddenly there’s a voice overhead calling Harry’s name and Harry’s darting away with his guitar in hand whispering “wish me luck”.  
  
“He’s an idiot,” Zayn says as Harry sets up. Niall keeps his eyes on the stage as he downs a little more of his beer, watching Harry tune his guitar while someone sorts out all the technical stuff.  
  
“You two live together?” Niall asks.  
  
Zayn shakes his head. “He was my roommate in res, but, I wanted to live alone and he’s friends with all these upper years who sort of took him in, so.” It feels like a lot to hear Zayn say all at once and Niall thinks there’s something to be said about the fact that Zayn talks more when he’s talking about his friends. But Niall doesn’t want to talk about Harry, not really.  
  
“You live alone?” he asks.  
  
“Mhm,” Zayn hums, sipping from his own drink, a whiskey sour if Niall’s not mistaken.  
  
“I could never live alone.”  
  
“You don’t say.”  
  
Niall snickers and finally turns to look over at Zayn fully. He’s got rings on his fingers tonight and his hands are clean of any paint. His hair’s pulled back into an untidy bun and Niall’s slightly pissed off with how hot he finds it.  
  
“That’s not why I’m in a frat,” he says, like he knows that’s what Zayn’s thinking.  
  
“Why are you?” Zayn asks, like he’s genuinely curious.  
  
Niall finishes his beer and contemplates the empty glass for a few moments before answering.  
  
“It’s like, everything is familiar, you know? You eat, you sleep, you party, all with the same people. Like a—a family, I don’t know. And you do cool shit like fundraising and networking events and you go places together and--,”  
  
Niall wants to finish what he was saying, how he’s not a cliché, how it’s more than Harry thinks it is, but then Harry is tapping his mic and the pub is quieting down and his voice cuts off. Zayn’s still looking at Niall, but Niall is watching the stage, feeling like an idiot for not being able to explain it fully. Niall’s peripherals guide him again, and he sees just out of the corner of his eye Zayn down his drink and finally avert his gaze to the stage, too.  
  
Harry’s pretty good if Niall’s being honest. His lyrics are simple and sweet and his voice is just that little bit raspy so it’s not annoying. They drink two more rounds while he sings through his set and by the time he gets back to their table Niall’s starting to feel pissed and judging by the thin layer of sweat developing on Zayn’s forehead, Niall thinks he might be too.  
  
“Thoughts? Opinions? I live for the applause,” Harry’s saying as he takes his seat beside Zayn.  
  
“Smashed it, bro,” Zayn says, shaking out Harry’s hair (which Niall notes is indecently long) with one free hand.  
  
Niall nods his agreement, raises the last of his pint. “Really good, mate.”  
  
“I, will drink to that,” Harry says, signaling the waitress for a drink.  
  
It’s past midnight when they finally stumble out of the bar and hail a cab outside before they even discuss where they’re all going. They’re crammed into the backseat with Harry in the middle and all sort of sputter when the cabby asks where they’re off to.  
  
“I’ll just go home, I expect,” Niall says, letting the cabby know the address.  
  
“Oh, that’s where I’m going too!” Harry says.  
  
“What?”  
  
“There’s a party there. Wait, that’s your frat?” Harry laughs like it’s the most perfect coincidence in the world.  
  
“Well I’m definitely going home,” Zayn says once the cabby is heading in the direction of Niall’s place.  
  
“Zaaaaaaayn,” Harry whines. “Come!”  
  
Niall keeps his mouth shut. He’d beg Zayn to come too if he didn’t think it’d be weird as hell. Zayn had turned down an invite to a party with him before, he doesn’t need him to again.  
  
“Bro,” is all Zayn says.  
  
“Bro,” Harry mimics in a scarily accurate imitation of Zayn’s accent. “You might as well just come because Niall definitely wants to hook up with you and this would be an ace opportunity.”  
  
Niall's snaps his head around from where he’d been gazing out the window and stares at Harry disbelievingly. How the fuck had he…just, how the fuck.  
  
Zayn is also staring at Harry and Niall pointedly avoids his eye.  
  
“I don’t--,” Niall starts but Harry cuts him off.  
  
“Niall, please. It doesn’t matter anyway because Zayn is coming to your party and I think everything is going to go perfectly.” Harry pats each of their knees. Niall slumps back into his seat and Zayn is silent on Harry’s other side.  
  
Fuck these people, Niall thinks. These kids who run their mouths and think they know everything and think it’s cute to say weird shit. Obviously he hadn’t been subtle, but come on.  
  
Harry whispers little pleas at Zayn the rest of the drive home, Niall catching some of it. He thinks he hears Zayn finally succumb and Niall thinks strangely that for how little he knows about Harry, he’s pretty sure his strong suit is persuasion. Like it’s hard to refuse him anything.  
  
When they get out of the cab outside Niall’s place, splitting the tab with whatever change they all have on them, they all stumble out, including Zayn. He’s smiling at Niall and Niall sighs and smiles back before letting them both into the already too-lively living room.  
  
***  
  
“Where’ve you been all night?” Liam’s asking, once Niall’s lost Zayn and Harry in the crowd. It's just a regular do, now. No more weird bars or weird people, just a regular do at the frathouse. It's only slightly throwing him off that Zayn is somewhere in said frathouse at the moment. He’d headed straight for the kitchen to grab another beer where lo and behold Liam was already gathering empties for the recycling. There’s a couple making out in the entry way but other than that they’re alone.  
  
“Was at a pub with a mate,” he says, twisting off the lid of his beer and drinking down a third of it.  
  
“One of us?” Liam asks.  
  
Niall thinks it sounds annoyingly cultish when Liam talks like that. “Nah, a guy from my art history class.”  
  
Liam’s brow furrows like it still doesn’t add up. “Have I met him?”  
  
Niall shrugs. “Doubt it. He’s here tonight though. Somewhere.”  
  
That seems to put Liam at ease, as if the guy’s alright if he still shows up to the right dos. Niall takes another long pull of his beer.  
  
“Well you go have fun, I’ll just be a few more minutes in here,” Liam says and Niall chugs what’s left of his beer, grabs another and waves before leaving Liam.  
  
The main space is like, _too_ crowded and Niall’s gotten better with his claustrophobia but it’s still a bit much. If he could just sneak past to the opening around the pong table, he’d definitely feel a bit better.  
  
Course he hadn’t really realized how drunk he was until he’s trying to maneuver through a throng of drunk people. He spots a couple girls that he thinks on any other night he might consider chatting up but Zayn is here somewhere and if he’s pulling anyone tonight, it better fucking be him. His whole party routine is off because of this guy, bloody hell.  
  
He makes it to the pong table and pushes his way to the front of the throng of people surrounding it, most of them letting him through when they recognize he bloody lives there. Louis’s playing some guy that Niall recognizes from his football team last year, but it looks as though Louis’s crushing him, to be honest. Niall’ll put him in his place once this round is over.  
  
Only then he spots Zayn on the other side of the table, leaning over so he can whisper in some bird’s ear. His face is steady but he’s so close and she’s looking at him like she wants to bloody eat him and Niall’s face is suddenly really, really hot. He waits, still, for Zayn to finally to look up and see Niall, too. When he does, Niall just nods, thinks maybe he’s smiling unconsciously and Zayn is turning back to the girl and actually fucking dismissing himself because he’s rounding the table and squeezing into the space beside Niall.  
  
“Thought you were the champion?” he says, right in Niall’s ear. It feels like Zayn is acting on something now. Like he’s got intention. Maybe Niall’s reading it wrong but there’s confidence there. He credits it to the alcohol.  
  
Niall shivers. Takes a steadying breath. “I am. Can prove it to you once these two finish up.”  
  
“I’ll take your word for it,” Zayn shrugs. “Kinda wanna smoke.”  
  
“Yeah?” Niall says, and Zayn nods. Niall looks over his shoulder, considers the party and all the people in it, so many of them strangers mingled in with his family and then Zayn. Art major Zayn with the weird tattoos and the weird friends and the weird pubs who helped Niall write one assignment. And yeah, he wants to hook up with Zayn. And Zayn wants to go smoke with Niall. Niall’s got this.  
  
“Come on,” he says, taking hold of Zayn’s hand and leading him towards the stairs, up the two flights to his bedroom.  
  
They smoke from Niall’s pipe even though Zayn hates it, pass it back and forth until Niall’s room is smokey and their eyes are tight and Niall thinks it feels excellent. They’re so far away from everything.  
  
“I’m not a cliché,” Niall says softly, once they're properly fucked up and Niall feels he's spinning a bit. He's lying sprawled out on the floor looking up at the Take That poster.  
  
“I don’t think you are,” he hears Zayn say from somewhere that feels very far away.  
  
“But I’m not like you and Harry.”  
  
“I don’t think you are.”  
  
“Ok.”  
  
“Ok.” Niall can hear a sort of smile in Zayn’s voice.  
  
Niall sits up, looks at Zayn like he’s searching for something to talk about from him. Like, why are your eyelashes so long and why are your lips chapped and where did the paint on your hands go.  
  
“Did your tattoos hurt?” is what he says out loud.  
  
Zayn laughs. Like properly bursts out laughing and Niall’s brow furrows. Zayn stops himself when he sees the look on Niall’s face and sort of shifts a bit so he’s closer to where Niall’s sat.  
  
“You’re talking shit, mate. Thought you wanted to hook up with me.”  
  
Niall swallows, lets Zayn lean in a little closer. “I do, yeah,” he murmurs, a little unnecessarily considering he can already feel Zayn’s breath against his cheek. Okay, this is happening then, the next step of the game.  
  
Niall’s so far gone it’s like everything is an afterthought. Like muscle memory. Zayn’s lips meet his and it’s gentle and a little lazy until his tongue is slowly licking open Niall’s mouth and Niall realizes he’s supposed to let that happen, is glad he does too because then he can properly taste Zayn. Somewhere, distantly, maybe, he tries to remember that Zayn tastes like smoke and whiskey and a little bit of beer right now.  
  
Niall thinks it’s absolutely ridiculous that he’d thought he was going to somehow woo Zayn considering Zayn’s got him like putty in his hand, Niall melting into his touch, letting Zayn guide him back so he’s lying on the floor again with Zayn hovering over him. Niall loves this bit, when it starts to feel desperate and needy. Even through the fog from the weed and all the alcohol in his system, his body comes alive under Zayn, cock hardening when Zayn finally grinds his hips down into Niall’s. Their tongues are doing a little war now, Niall sucking on Zayn’s until Zayn can lick it away and bite down on Niall’s lower lip before leaning in softly again to suck it into his mouth. It’s maddening and Niall needs his kit off or some friction or just needs—something.  
  
Niall lets his hands glide across Zayn’s back, over his arse and back up again, trying to tug his shirt up in the process but it’s useless at this angle so he flips them and finally, fucking finally, he’s got control of this situation. He has got this.  
  
He settles himself on Zayn’s thighs and pulls Zayn’s mouth up to meet his again, finally getting his shirt off, breaking away so he can trail his eyes over all the many more tattoos that had been hiding under there. He doesn’t think, just leans in to skim his teeth over Zayn’s shoulder and across his chest, just to feel the tattoos under his tongue. Zayn groans softly and grips at the hair at the back of Niall’s neck.  
  
Niall rolls his hips, settles his mouth against Zayn’s neck and deliberately works at leaving marks there. He’s so, so hard and the friction is fucking perfect, grinding down into the cradle of Zayn’s hips and feeling just how hard Zayn is too. Part of him thinks he could come like that, doesn’t really want to, but. The noises Zayn’s making are too good to stop for and he’s far too lazy to get his kit off anyway, fuck it.  
  
He picks up the pace, keeping his face buried in Zayn’s neck as he works his hips down, down, around, into Zayn’s but then Zayn’s hands are in his hair again and he’s pulling Niall off to meet his gaze and Niall knows he must look wrecked but Zayn’s eyes are patient.  
  
“Niall, don’t come like this, come on. I can make it better for you,” Zayn presses their foreheads together and waits for Niall to slow the roll of his hips and nod.  
  
“Yeah?” Zayn makes sure and Niall nods again, lets Zayn flip them again, sitting back to let Niall get his shirt off before moving back to settle between Niall’s legs and get his trousers and pants off in one go. Niall lets his head fall back because he can’t, he can’t look at Zayn right now. Can’t see how his face looks when he feels his tongue at the head of his cock, when he feels him close his mouth around it and wet it beautifully, stroking him till he’s properly leaking. Niall doesn’t think he’s ever been gagging so much for a blowjob.  
  
“Zayn,” Niall chokes when all he can feel is the gentle stroke of Zayn’s hand on his dick and it’s not fucking enough, he needs more.  
  
“Niall,” Zayn replies easily. “What do you want, babe?”  
  
Fucking hell. “Zayn, please. Mouth—your--,”  
  
“You want my mouth?” Niall hears the grin in his voice and he fucking hates it.  
  
“ _Zayn_.”  
  
“Can you look at me, Niall?” Zayn asks and it sounds fucking pleasant, if Niall had to describe it.  
  
He groans because he really fucking can’t but if it’ll get Zayn’s mouth around his cock again then, fine. It’s fucking brutal of course, sitting up and seeing Zayn in the dark of his room, all bright brown eyes and stupidly long eyelashes and tattooed chest and he’s right fucking there with Nialls dick in his hand, looking up at Niall with his eyebrows slightly raised.  
  
“You listen really well,” Zayn grins. “You fratboys are so easy.”  
  
Niall’s brow furrows and he’s about to ask what that’s supposed to mean but Zayn’s mouth is on his cock again and he starts a blissful rhythm with his tongue and his hand and it’s all Niall can do not to come, let alone get a word out. Zayn’s eyes are so fucking dark, shadowed under his eyelashes and every time he looks up at Niall, Niall can feel himself inching dangerously closer. Zayn is so, so good. Like, fucking strategic, always slowing his pace every time Niall tenses like he’s close. Even his own fucking orgasm belongs to Zayn. Niall could cry.  
  
“Zayn, Zayn,” he says instead.  
  
Zayn looks up from under his lashes and raises one eyebrow in response and Niall curses, low and breathy.  
  
“Zayn, please,” he tries and Zayn fucking smirks around his cock and pulls off to jerk Niall fast like he’s sixteen and trying to come as quickly as possible so his Mum won’t catch him but fuck if it’s not the most perfect feeling right now, just a few fast strokes from Zayn before he’s coming, arching up off the floor, Zayn catching him with his free arm before Niall can flop back down again, holding him steady, upright as he strokes him through it.  
  
He’s kissing Niall again, catching the last moan from his mouth, carefully releasing Niall’s cock and bringing the arm holding Niall upright around to cup Niall’s face with both his hands to deepen it.  
  
Niall’s too fucked up and fucked out to remember his mouth is still against Zayn’s when he says, “oh my god” like he’s honestly in awe of how Zayn just made him come.  
  
Zayn pulls away just a couple inches and moves his hands to rest against Niall’s neck until Niall’s breathing slows.  
  
“Alright?” Zayn asks after a few moments.  
  
“Where the fuck did you come from?” is Niall's breathy response. Hopefully Zayn takes it as the “thank you” that Niall means it to be.  
  
Zayn just smirks like, yeah, he knows.  
  
It takes another couple minutes for Niall to come down completely and Zayn is so, so patient, just pressing small kisses against Niall’s mouth until his breathing steadies out fully and his muscles are tired and calm.  
  
“Get on the bed,” Niall says, aiming for dark but sounding more like a plea. Zayn smiles and nods and pulls himself off the floor to lay out on Niall’s small bed. The comforter has a logo for his favourite football team on it. He wonders distantly what Zayn thinks about that. Wonders if Zayn cares about football at all. He pushes himself up off the floor and onto the foot of the bed, reaching up to pull Zayn’s kit off. Zayn seems so alive right now, so much more alive than Niall’s ever seen him despite the high and the booze and that he’d been so calm and patient with Niall. But now he’s sat up on his elbows, watching Niall carefully, intently, like he’s bloody fascinated by it and can’t look away.  
  
Niall swallows cos it feels like he’s under pressure, for fuck’s sake. He looks back at Zayn watching him, doesn’t look away or break eye contact even as his hand wraps around the base of Zayn’s cock or when he takes him in his mouth. Zayn’s like, properly big, and Niall can feel his mouth stretching a bit but it doesn’t feel unpleasant to him, and it definitely doesn’t feel unpleasant to Zayn who’s got a hand in Niall’s hair immediately, groaning softly and when Niall looks up he can see that he’s finally let his head fall back.  
  
Niall tightens his grip around Zayn’s dick and tries to take him deeper but his gag reflex is shit and he chokes a little. He pulls off laughing but when he looks up Zayn is watching him again, his eyes dark. Niall swallows his laugh.  
  
“Shitty gag reflex?” Zayn asks breathily.  
  
Niall nods.  
  
“Try again,” Zayn suggests softly.  
  
Niall’s eyes widen. He doesn’t know how to make it better, just takes a deep breath and tries, tries so hard to open his throat so he can take it. He’s mildly aware that Zayn is guiding him, just gently, almost encouragingly. But he chokes again, pulling off and shaking his head like he’s disappointed in himself for it.  
  
Zayn is smiling when he looks up this time. “We’ll work on that.”  
  
Somewhere in the back of his mind Niall is giddy over the thought that Zayn wants this to happen again, but right now he feels he’s got something to prove. So he can’t deep throat—he’s still gonna make him come and it’s gonna be fucking brilliant.  
  
Zayn nods for Niall carry on and Niall nods once in response, picking a rhythm he knows would make anyone crazy, focusing his tongue around the head and stroking steadily with one hand. He knows he’s being messy with it now, but Niall loves it like that if he’s being honest, and judging from the way Zayn’s hand is tightening his hair, he’s not opposed to it either. Niall sucks him in earnest, lets his hand loosen and dip behind Zayn’s balls and Zayn hips actually jerk upward, making Niall choke for a third time. But he doesn’t pull off, just lets Zayn feel the double sensation. Niall isn’t expecting silence when Zayn comes but that’s that he gets, just a sort of choked off noise and then silence as he comes down Niall’s throat and it’s Niall can do it not to choke again, just swallows dutifully and finally pulls off Zayn completely.  
  
Zayn finally seems out of energy and he lies back on the bed and waits for Niall to crawl up and meet him there.  
  
“I need a cigarette,” Zayn sighs.  
  
“Post-blowjob cigarette? Think Harry might want you for his novel.”  
  
"I already know I’m a cliché, Niall.”  
  
***  
  
1 MONTH LATER  
  
Niall (Art History): _Don’t go to class . I got a half ounce with your name on it !_  
  
Zayn (Your Bedroom probably): _Class starts in ten minutes I’m literally about to leave the house ._  
  
N: _Well , I’m outside so you better hurry_  
  
Z: _ur outside my flat ?_  
  
N: _:)_  
  
“You know it’s midterm review today, right?” Zayn says when he finally emerges from the front doors of his apartment two minutes later.  
  
“I think we’ll be fine,” Niall shrugs. It’s colder now, the October air getting crisper as it inches closer to November. Niall had severely underestimated that when he wore just a t shirt this morning. Whatever.  
  
“Did you bike here?” Zayn asks, addressing the somewhat rundown bike Niall had decided it was time to break out of the basement before it got too cold.  
  
“Yeah, it’s better than the bus. Too many people.”  
  
Zayn hums and follows Niall down this pedestrian path he knows leads to a little forest-type thing behind his building. Niall’s rolled a couple awkward joints and they smoke them quickly, both too scared of getting caught to really savour them. It’s whatever. They’re high and together and it’s good.  
  
Niall is aware he owes literally zero of his success with Zayn to his flirting skills but clearly something has been working for the past few weeks. Zayn had stayed the night after their first hook up and for some reason waking up beside each other sort of affirmed that they were gonna keep whatever it was they had up. Casually, and all that shit. But it’s still good. They’re friends and they shag and they smoke and it’s good.  
  
They slump down beside a tree and Zayn pulls his sketchbook out of his backpack and makes quick work of doodling a comic-y version of the scene: him and Zayn, sat in a barely-there forest against a tree, eyes glazed over, Niall's bike splayed out the ground nearby. Niall watches him work even though Zayn doesn’t like it, he’s learned, but. It’s cool. Zayn creates things that weren’t there before. Niall loves it.  
  
When he’s done, he signs his initials at the bottom of the page and looks up at Niall.  
  
“Did you have plans or did you make me skips class just for this?” he asks.  
  
Niall smirks. “Could go back up to yours?”  
  
“Could do.”  
  
Back up to Zayn’s apartment, then. Weird art major Zayn who lives alone and makes somethings from nothings and might kind of maybe Niall's boyfriend. Niall’s totally got this, he thinks, he has so totally got this.  
  
THE END

**Author's Note:**

> my [Tumblr](http://harrabella.tumblr.com/). Thanks for reading!


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